Grandma
“Grandma, It’s me Jason.”
With a much more aged voice than what I remember she questioned my greeting at her front door.
“Who? Jason who? Speak up dear, I have a hard time hearing.”
She continued with a little more of a murmur that let into an uncomfortable silence.
“Grandma, I am George’s son, you know Jason. You used to take my sister Aubrey, my brother Nick, and I to Thomson’s railroad when we were kids.”
I looked back over from the planter of dead roses I had been gazing at when I finished my sentence. I noticed a new glaze in her eyes, and she stood there in her doorway silent.
“Jason, my dear Jason. Where have you been all these years Jason. You look much older than I remember.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. That had always been my grandmother. She always knew how to kick the elephant right in the balls.
She welcomed me into her home, a home I hadn’t been in since before my dad and I had got into our fight. The smells, the sights, I was a child again coming to make cookies with grandma while mom went off to do whatever it is that moms do when a boy is 10.
“Grandma, I wanted to make my rounds trying to make it right for everything that happened when I left.”
A tear began to roll down my cheek as I shared the story.
“Dear, we don’t have time to be sad.”
I wiped a tear from my face and sniffled as if I was a kid crying about a scraped knee.
“I am not sad grandma; I am sorry. I am so sorry that I left you. I left everyone. I was a kid, I was young, I was dumb, I didn’t know better. I thought I knew everything in the world, and I was wrong. The older I get the more I realize how little I know, and it terrifies me- “
“Child calm down. If forgiveness is what you need, I forgave you the day you were born. I forgave you long before you ever even had that god awful fight with your father. But you’re here now.”
“What do you mean? You forgave me the day I was born?”
I was afraid she was going back into whatever age inflicted memory lapse had come upon her before. Her eyes were still well focused with her looking staring straight into my soul.
“Son we all make mistakes. Your father was just as much to blame as you were. We can’t undo the things we did. We can only do our best to better ourselves and hope to make as few mistakes along the way as possible. I knew you were going to mess up the day you were born. We are all born flawed in our own special way, and we all make mistakes.”
She put her hand on mine and leaned in closer.
“Not all of us have the courage to do what you are doing right now.”
“What’s that?”
“Not many have the courage or the integrity to apologize for their wrongdoing.”
“I love you Grandma.”
“I love you too.”
She took her hand off mine and stood up.
“Well dear, it is awfully late. Let me get you something to eat. The room you kids used to stay in still has the beds in there. Feel free to sleep in there or take the couch. Whatever you prefer. What do you think? Pancakes?”
“You read my mind.”
That night we ate stacks of pancakes and they were the same way I remembered them from when I was young.
After dinner I did the dishes and grandma Dried. We spent the whole night catching up. We talked about my time in the military. I told her about my boys and my wife. I told her about everything I had kept her from for over a decade. She wasn’t bothered by it though.
“Jason, You think they have pancakes at the great feast in heaven?”
“Who knows. I bet they have Peta bread and hummus. It’s not as good but close.”
“You save those jokes for the morning mister. We are going to need our energy to finish these things. I made way too many.”
With a firm hug I melted in my grandmothers’ arms once again.
“I love you grandma, good night.”
“I am so happy you are here. I love you too, have a good night.”
The morning came faster than expected and telling by the noises outside it was well into the morning.
I yelled across the hall, “Grandma you up?”
There was no response, and this was odd. From what I remembered grandma had always been an early riser. She was always a morning person with at least the smell of coffee to fill the house in the morning.
“Grandma you in there?”
I knocked on her door that was cracked open. The force of my knock pushed it the rest of the way. There my grandmother was still asleep in her bed.
As I walked close, I became more ill. There was no smell, but there was that feeling of death I could remember from the war.
I knelled down beside her bed and placed my hand on the top of her head providing a soft nudge.
“Grandma. Are you awake?”
